What Should I Do, Master?
by ardavenport
Summary: Young Obi-Wan needs his Master's advice on an unwelcome aspect of maturity.


**WHAT SHOULD I DO, MASTER?**

by ardavenport

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"Eeeerrrrr . . . . "

Obi-Wan Kenobi clenched his teeth, lying rigid on his side, a long lump of plush, heavy blankets between him and his Master on the other side of the sleeping mat.

"Eeeerrr . . . eeerrr-oohh."

"Oooohhh . . . ooohhh."

Another couple started up in the darkness on the opposite end of the Dyaratim Conclave tent . . . . no . . . it sounded like more than two people. Eyes squeezed shut, Obi-Wan tried to still his mind, but the calm he reached for remained a distant, abstract thought.

His body did not want to be calm and he cringed from the disgrace of his primal craving.

"Eerrr-errr-eerrrr-errr-errrrrrr-rrrrr-rrrrr!"

Obi-Wan threw himself over onto his other side, putting his back toward his Master. He clutched at the covering of the blanket that did not move with him.

"Eeerr-oooo-oooohhh! Aaaaa-aaaa-aaa-aaahhh!"

Someone had reached satisfaction. The air was thick with Dynian sweat, their sweet wine and spilled food from the celebration. Not long after the suns had set, the celebrants had gone to their own areas after wearing themselves out. Mostly.

Obi-Wan's hand twitched, but he held back from touching his engorged member. How could he? Here? He was not alone in his room in the Jedi Temple where he could relieve his 'youthful urges', the usual euphemism of the training droids in the Med Center and the Masters when he and other Padawans were invited to discuss the maturing of their bodies in a group.

It seemed so easy there and back then. Control . . . . control . . . . control . . . .

His control had fled him. And the Force with it.

"Eeeerr-aaahh-aaahh-eeerrr-aaaahhh."

His connection to the Force had gone diaphanous, transparent. Everything around him had turned insubstantial and very far away. He was only connected to one thing, an urgent, hard and huge erection and the monstrous, treacherous pleasure that came with it.

'Repression is not control,' was taught to Jedi Padawans of all species. If they had urges, they were expected to deal with them. Learn about them, examine them, control them by knowing them intimately and holding them at a dispassionate distance.

Obi-Wan knew that he had been 'examining' his 'urges' and the erotic pleasure that went with them on his own far too closely. The unemotional analysis always seemed to come afterward and only invited more experimentation later.

Now he was paying the price. By not seriously striving for control in a safe private place back at the Jedi Temple, he had completely lost it now. While on a mission, with his Master lying next to him. The embarrassment burned deep, an almost physical pain that perversely complemented the heat in his groin.

In desperation, he resorted to the most elementary exercise.

His eyes squinted shut, he inhaled deeply, reminding himself to relax the muscles in his face.

Exhale.

Inhale. Deeply. The Force flowing through his body (he imagined).

Exhale.

Inhale.

The results were minimal. It had no effect on his erection, but something inside him quieted enough for him to feel his surroundings . . . .

. . . . revealing the tiniest movement behind his back. Controlled breathing and awareness. His Master was awake.

"Uuuh!" His sudden intake of breath shattered his fragile attempt for calm.

He gulped, tears stinging his eyes. He had failed . . . . but he would not now compound that by trying to hide or run away from what could not be hidden.

"Master, what must I do?" he whispered miserably.

The softly spoken answer came from the dark behind him. "You must let it go, Obi-Wan."

Gulping again, he wanted to demand a better answer than his Master's typically Jedi and infuriatingly vague response.

But it was obvious what Qui-Gon meant.

Obi-Wan threw the covering off and stood. Then he grabbed it, yanking it away from the rest of the bedding to take with him. Even if the Dynians would not care if his arousal showed, he still did.

Dim orange light-globes illuminated the way out of the large tent and down the smooth path to the encampment cesspit. The glass and metal of the ceremonial chimes hanging from the tall poles above tinkled in the otherwise faintly stirring air. Wide, fragrant leaves brushed his arms on the smooth, curved pathway. He ripped some from the branches and stumbled, his booted feet coming down hard on the synth-stone. Throwing his arms out, he regained his balance, catching himself from falling, the leaves' green woody scent leaking from between the fingers of his balled fists.

Reaching the lighted cliff edge of the pit, he threw his head back. The enormous icy blue planet, Dyn, filled almost a quarter of the night sky, diming the view of the galactic center and all but the brightest nearby stars. The blue glow bathed the rock wall on the opposite side of the pit with its cool light. Still clutching the leaves, he pulled up his under tunic, unfastened his pants and gingerly touched his erection and swollen scrotum.

He abruptly inhaled the fetid air rising up from the darkness below. The sensation was electric, magnified by his earlier denial. Repression was definitely not control and he abandoned it completely as he applied hands and leaves to his penis and testicles. But it felt like he had hardly started before ejaculation came, squirting out and away.

There was an orgasm of sorts, but it felt incomplete. Coming before he was ready, it felt out of synch with his body and unsatisfying. He did not care. Wiping himself off with the leaves and then letting the gummy mass fall into the dark, he pulled up his pants, which had fallen to his knees.

He wanted to wipe his hands off thoroughly, but of course all the bushes nearest the edge were stripped of the large leaves grown specifically for that purpose. He closed his eyes. At least he was done with that part of his humiliation.

A moment later he jumped back away from the edge.

His Master, partially dressed as he was, nodded in his direction before he stepped to the edge and unfastened his own pants. Obi-Wan looked away while Qui-Gon calmly urinated into the pit. Fragrant leaves crinkled as Qui-Gon wiped his fingers and then let them fall into the darkness below. But their antiseptic aroma could hardly compete with the refuse of the large gathering of diplomats, negotiators and their staffs currently occupying the tents.

Qui-Gon Jinn turned away and went back down the path. Taking a calming breath (that did not succeed) Obi-Wan fell in behind. His Master took a side path around the main tent where they had been quartered and a moment later emerged from the shade of the overhead foliage to a pathway overlooking the other tents of the Conclave, the sculpted steps of the gardens and the cliffs of the wide canyon beyond, all the bright daylight colors faded into gray-blue night shadows.

Obi-Wan paused as Qui-Gon took a seat on a sculpted stone bench, leaving plenty of room next to him.

He sat.

The sound of singing came from one of the more distant tents, colored flashing lights leaking out from cracks in the heavy fabric. A last bit of celebration of the treaty resolution of a two-hundred year old space-lanes dispute in the Tormidian Cluster.

"Eerrr-errr-errr-errrr-rrrrr-rrr!"

And there was another sort of celebrating going on amidst the thick foliage around the tents. Obi-Wan pressed his knees together. There was no chance now that the sounds of pleasuring would have the same effect on him as it had earlier. In fact, he was feeling a little sick.

He folded his arms across his chest and wished he had his robe instead of the blanket.

"I have failed you, Master," he finally mumbled, looking down at the blue shadowed path at his feet, small flattish plants casting slightly darker tendrils near them.

"Being young and inexperienced is not a failure, Obi-Wan."

Not a failure? he mouthed with a glimmering of hope.

He looked to his side, up to the older man, bluish profile and prominent nose against a starry night sky.

"I did not mind your teachings, the teachings of the other Masters back at the temple.

"I lost control."

Qui-Gon kept his eyes forward, not looking back at him as he replied. "No. You never had control to begin with. You cannot lose what you never had."

"But - but - I - I have not . . . practiced control. At least, not as I should. Not as I have been instructed."

"Aaaah." Qui-Gon nodded casually, as if he was confessing to not combing his hair. "You mean your indulgences in masturbation."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan whispered, lowering his eyes.

His head snapped up.

"You know, Master?"

He shrugged and finally looked back to him. "Every time you do it."

Too surprised for the shame to set in, Obi-Wan's mouth gaped open.

Qui-Gon laid a hand on his shoulder and he flinched. The hand dropped away, but his Master's tone was kind.

"I am your Master, Obi-Wan. Attuned to your moods. Such an intense activity is obvious."

"You - - you are aware when I do it?"

"No," Qui-Gon replied firmly. "That would be . . . unpleasant. But your intentions are obvious the evening before, as well as your . . . satisfaction the morning after."

"Oh." He swallowed hard, unnerved by his Master's insight. "You did not say anything."

"It is for you to speak of it, when it is discussed back at the Temple."

Hugging himself, Obi-Wan flinched again. "It is difficult to speak of . . . with others."

"Deliberately so, my young Padawan. Because it is also more difficult to feel the urge when you are being watched in a group whose purpose is to analyze it without feeling it." Qui-Gon sighed and it sounded like regret to his apprentice.

"I did not heed what I learned from them, Master," he persisted. "I . . . have enjoyed it too much," he confessed guiltily.

"You cannot learn unless you do enjoy it. Unemotional analysis and anatomy lessons teach very little of what you need to know. That can only be gained by experience."

Obi-Wan looked up again in surprise.

"Then why is this taught that way in the Temple?"

"You know from tonight's experience, that the sensual sounds, sights, smells, any of the senses can initiate an urgent desire. Imagine your embarrassment if what happened tonight happened in such a group at the Temple. Or the embarrassment of the Masters if it happens to them."

Eyes wide, Obi-Wan had trouble picturing something like that. The Masters were wise, with control of the Force and themselves; how could they possibly . . . . ?

"Master, does that mean that you . . . ?" He could not finish the sentence, but Qui-Gon's knowing smile in the blue planet light finished it for him.

"The impulse does diminish with age and control does improve with experience, but . . . even I could be caught off guard." He folded his arms over his chest, dressed only in his light under tunic.

"Master Yoda teaches that we are creatures of energy, beyond our base flesh. But he ignores the simple fact that we are also tied to it. And the only sure way to learn about our base flesh is to experience it. Feel it, Obi-Wan." He looked up at the sky. "And if we are fortunate, we may do so in private, or in the presence of those who do not care, such as our hosts."

Another rustling from the distant bushes emphasized that point.

"What do you feel, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan still wanted to hide. He did not like being so out of control; or admitting how wonderful it felt.

"What do you feel?"

Qui-Gon laid his hand on his arm again, and he did not flinch this time. It was a touch of support, like when his Master guided his body in lightsaber training and forms. A warm touch of comfort when he was conflicted or hurt.

"Shame, Master. I don't want this . . . but . . . why does it feel so good?"

"You know all the physiological purposes for desire and sex - - - "

He did not use the usual euphemism, 'urge'.

" - - - so you already know 'why'."

"I want it . . . but I don't at the same time. I - I'm . . . . afraid of it, Master."

"Aaaaaah." Qui-Gon sighed his acknowledgement and Obi-Wan knew that his Master had been waiting for this admission all along. "You fear it because it is inside you."

"Yes, Master."

"You fear it will make you into something that you do not wish to be. That it might control you."

"I do not want it to control me. But tonight . . . it did." He closed his eyes. "I fear that. I do not think . . . that is something that would be acceptable for a Jedi."

"You are correct."

After a long silence, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. In the distance, he glimpsed dark Dynian body shapes run/playing around each other before falling behind a tent. Faint moans of pleasuring followed.

"What must I do, Master?"

"You must follow your feelings. Without fear. But not just the feelings of the moment. Follow them before and after the moments of ecstasy. If you wish to couple with any of our hosts, I think that some of them would quite accommodating."

Obi-Wan froze for a moment at the suggestion. "Are we not anatomically incompatible with the Dynians?" he stalled.

"Yes," his Master agreed. "But you will find that sufficiently motivated individuals will apply considerable creativity to such problems."

He did not know how to respond. Was his Master inviting him to present himself to the head negotiator, or his staff or any of the other diplomates for sex? Would Qui-Gon make an introduction for him? Obi-Wan could not think of anything less erotic.

"Have you ever engaged in . . . . " his brain froze trying to think of a respectful way to phrase his questions.

"Engaged in wanton, hot sex with my hosts on a mission for the Jedi Order?" The words sounded a little more dignified than their meaning when Qui-Gon said them out loud.

"Yes. When I was a bit younger," he admitted and Obi-Wan envied the complete lack of guilt or hesitation in Qui-Gon's voice. "It went well only a couple of times."

"Can you teach me what I need to know?"

"Now?"

Obi-Wan gulped. He had not meant for his question to be an invitation. "Isn't that forbidden by the Jedi Code?"

"Oh, yes it is, my young Padawan."

"Why?" The question came out of his mouth without any accompanying thought. But . . . .

Why? Why? Why could he not learn from someone who taught him everything else about life, about living? Who had already seen the worst of him and could guide him away from it? But Qui-Gon's next words squashed that thought before it could fully form.

"Physically intimate relations can be perilous; they often lead to emotional intimacy, attachment, and possession, especially when one person wields power over the other."

"You do not wield power over me, Master."

Qui-Gon's blue-shadowed face turned stern. "I wield the most intimate power of all over you, Obi-Wan. My word, my training is your path to achieve your life's goal, to be a Jedi Knight. Any failure on my part would destroy that."

Obi-Wan gulped. "Is that not possession? At least some form of attachment?"

"It is." Qui-Gon looked up to the sky. "And yet, that intimacy is essential. The Jedi Order could not exist, could not continue without it. Still we deny that a Padwan's pledge to follow the Master's teachings is an attachment, a bond in the Force itself. Even as we follow our feelings, we cut them off between us. Sometimes cruelly . . . . "

"Errrgh, rrrrrhhhgh . . . . "

Two Dynians, arms around each, naked with bulbous bodies pressed together for support, stumbled down a nearby path, roughly in the direction of the cesspit.

"Aaaaaagh, Jedi!" one of them saluted them with a huge toothy grin and a wave but the pair fortunately did not stop to converse. They disappeared behind the foliage around a corner.

Qui-Gon leaned a little closer to him "The Jedi Code does allow me to advise you that that sight and the unfortunate memories of tonight might serve to dampen any unwanted and untimely desires for you in the future."

Obi-Wan shivered. Then he snorted with a suppressed laugh; he knew that would be true, for years to come, probably for the rest of his life. The seriousness of the moment had suddenly turned absurd. At his side, his Master lowered his head, his fingers pressed over his lips as if to hold in his huge grin.

"Did your Master advise you, about your own unfortunate memories?"

The mirth drained away from Qui-Gon's face so quickly that Obi-Wan sat silently shocked through the long silence that followed before his Master replied.

"No."

Did Qui-Gon's Master deny the bond between them? _Sometimes cruelly . . . ._

He had never met Dooku, Qui-Gon Jinn's much acclaimed Master. He was rarely at the Temple and Qui-Gon's answers were always vague about introducing him or even about what he was like other than generic statements about his Master's accomplishments.

Obi-Wan placed his hand over Qui-Gon's and his surprised Master turned his face to him and away from his own deeper thoughts.

"I think, that the next time, when I speak with a group back at the Temple, uh, about my maturity, I will tell them about tonight. I would be grateful if you would help me with, uh, . . . the details."

The blank inquiry in Qui-Gon's blue-shadowed eyes, turned to a familiar fondness and he returned the touch, putting his arm over Obi-Wan's shoulder as he often did when his Padawan needed his support.

"I would be very pleased to help in any way I can, my young Padawan.

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 **o o END o o**

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 **Disclaimer:** All characters and the Star Wars universe belong to Disney/Lucasfilm; I am just playing in their sandbox.


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